Брендон Сандерсон - Cytonic

The group parted to make way for an alien of a completely different race, with a wide face and powerful limbs. Long teeth and clawed fingers gave this one the overall appearance of something like a bear on its hind legs, except not furry. They walked with a hunched-forward gait, giving them a predatory air, beefy arms held forward and at the ready.

I took this one for the leader of the group, considering the fine jacket and impressive hat, complete with a large plume. “Words!” the creature said. “Trying to steal a starfighter, eh? You must have grown at least six muluns for trying that!”

My pin didn’t translate the word, which was odd. I sat there, my hands bound behind me, and tried to come up with a plan. The leader alien walked up and slapped me on the back in a way that felt distinctly friendly.

“But you have rotten luck,” the leader continued. “Not a single gulun for you! Picking a ship inhabited by one of our resonants? Words, girl. Words. Anyway, welcome to the Broadsiders.”

“Wait,” I said, twisting to look at the leader. “Welcome?”

“The more people we have around, the more stable our memories remain,” one of the diones explained. “So you’re lucky. No execution for you. Instead you get to be our new cleaning slave.”

Great. Well, as awful as being a slave sounded, I felt even worse for messing up the plan. Chet had been trustworthy all along, and here I’d bungled everything.

“There were some ashes on her, Captain,” the varvax noted in their language, holding up a glowing transparent bag.

The scruffy human stepped forward carrying M-Bot’s drone. “Ma’am? This is what she used to try to break into the starship.”

I felt a spike of alarm. M-Bot? The drone seemed completely lifeless. The human fiddled with it, then found the old power button—which M-Bot had disconnected. However, when the human pushed the button, the drone’s small acclivity rings powered on, turning from dull blue-black to a vibrant glowing azure. The drone began to hover on its own power. Then as the human let go, it hovered over to use its grabber arm to pick up a rag from the floor. It then began wiping a window with it.

M-Bot, you genius, I thought. He always talked about how intelligent he was, but considering how he acted a lot of the time, it was easy to forget. Right now though, he did a spot-on imitation of a cleaning drone.

“Huh,” the captain said, then nudged me—hard enough that my chair scooted along the floor. “How’d you make it hack the canopy on Shiver’s starfighter?”

“It has some illegal programs,” I muttered, trying to play the role of the mousy little rat-catcher girl. “I managed to install them before coming in here. Thought it would be smart to hide them in a normal cleaning drone.”

That would imply the drone didn’t have a proper AI, so theoretically the Broadsiders shouldn’t be afraid of it becoming self-aware. Though admittedly I didn’t know a ton about AIs.

“Is that so?” the captain said. “Words. That might be useful. I’ll consider it an apology gift from you for waking me up in the middle of the night. Grow a tulun or two at my generosity, new slave. What’s your name?”

“Spin,” I said. “Yours?”

“Ha! Muluns indeed.” She swept off her hat and inclined her head toward me, revealing a crest of yellow feathers like a mohawk. “I’m Peg, captain of the Broadsiders!”

“Peg?” I said, glancing at the captain’s legs—both of which were whole. “As in…”

The human laughed. “Nah,” he said to me in heavily accented English. “She doesn’t get it. The name’s a coincidence.”

He walked over and shut off M-Bot, who dutifully powered down the rings and stopped moving. I twisted, trying to glance out the window to where Chet had been standing earlier, but couldn’t make anything out.

“Your friend ran off,” the human said to me, then patted the rifle over his shoulder. “Lucky for him, I was more worried about an attack than I was a scout. I only got a few shots off on him before ducking in to see what was happening.”

“Your friend abandoned you,” Peg said. “Should have given him some of your muluns. ”

That about proved it: Chet hadn’t sold me out. He’d run, yes, but that was smart.

Scud, I felt like a complete idiot. Maybe after being betrayed by Brade, I was overly sensitive. Or maybe I was just a terrible judge of people.

Yeah…it was probably that. I had to face it, didn’t I? I’d spent most of my training assuming Jorgen was a legitimate jerk, while he was actually pretty un-jerky. But I’d tried hard to trust Brade despite the way she acted. I heaved a sigh and tipped my head back to stare at the ceiling.

I only wanted to fly again. I’d trained all my life to be a warrior. That was what I knew, what I understood. How did I keep ending up in situations like this instead?

“Hey,” Peg said, shoving me on the shoulder, “don’t get like that. You might not realize it, but you’re far better off scrubbing our floors than you would be out there on your own.”

I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Keep her on a leash,” Peg said, striding away. “And don’t let her near that drone, just in case. I’m gonna go back to sleep.”

“Leash,” it turned out, meant a light-line.

I’d never seen one used this way. A loop on one end was fastened around my neck, the other end attached to the wall. The control mechanism was locked tight, leaving me stuck. I’d sooner chew through iron links with my teeth than find a way to slice a light-line.

Though the pirates had joked about making me clean floors, they actually pulled over a box of parts for me, along with several containers of lubricant. They told me to grease each part and set them out on a cloth.

This was good. They could have left me to feel sorry for myself—and there’s no telling how long I would have indulged that. But when they plopped down the gears and made fun of me for getting caught, demanding I work…well, that made me angry. And anger considers defeatism to be easy prey.

I did as they asked, but as soon as I’d gathered my wits and my determination, I quested out with my cytonic senses, searching for Chet. I found his mind relatively nearby; I thought maybe he’d made his way back onto the blue jungle fragment to hide, if it hadn’t drifted away already.

Chet? I said to his mind.

Ah, he said, his “voice” laced with pain. Miss Nightshade. It is good to hear that you are well. I had feared the worst!

You’re hurt! I said.

Merely a…small wound, he said. A destructor shot grazed me. Nothing an old hound like me hasn’t felt a dozen times over! Ha…

It was bravado. I could feel he was legitimately in pain. And it was my fault.

Be careful, he warned me. Talking this way could draw delver attention!

That gave me pause. He was right. Yet I had an impression… Ever since that moment at the Path, something had changed about my powers, or my understanding of them. I knew better how to hide.

I closed my eyes and concentrated. When I reached out to someone like Chet, I could now see that I always did the cytonic equivalent of shouting. So I tried to focus, control my voice. I returned to Chet and brushed his mind with a soft whisper instead.

How is this?

Miss Nightshade! he said. Why, that is marvelous. How did you learn to be so quiet?

I’m learning just now, I said. But then, I’d always had a talent for hearing the stars—and the night before, I’d been able to catch thoughts Brade hadn’t wanted to share with me. I think maybe you don’t need to project your thoughts to me. Just think them while we’re connected, and I will overhear them.